


I Won't Let You Forget

by Arenoptara



Series: Jearmin Week 2014 [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Jearmin Week, M/M, Sexual References, asshole Reiner, dead Marco, elf!Jean, elf!Sasha, lots of bows and arrows and shit, makeout scene, we didn't kill the freckled man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenoptara/pseuds/Arenoptara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a human is allegedly killed by an elf of a nearby clan, the townsfolk agree to get vengeance. On this little nightly excursion into the woods complete with swords and torches and angry humans, Armin happens upon an elf with a very odd haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let You Forget

Whoever had drawn the wanted poster did not know that elves looked similar to humans, varying only in height, ear shape, and demeanor. Or maybe they were just blatantly being racist like the town was so apt to do. Something about the massive sagging ears, huge hooked witch nose, bug eyes, and scraggly wolf teeth seemed a bit far-fetched to Armin. And the haircut. Did all elves wear their hair like that or just this one?

The bottom of the poster said that night there'd be a meeting in the Wilted Rose to form a posse and kill the elf that murdered the mayor's son. Marco had been a cool guy and never deserved what he got, so Armin would definitely be attending. He had nothing against elves. But if that one really _had_ killed Marco—Armin wasn't 100% positive—then he did have something against _him_. Unfortunately, most of the others were all elf haters, and always leaped without thinking enough about anything. Maybe they envied the ears?

Annie, Armin's best friend, tagged along to watch the stupidity of humanity unfold right before her eyes. They sat in the very corner, Annie with a pint of foaming beer that spilled over the edges, and her feet propped up on the table. At the moment, all the townspeople were shouting over each other, no one quite intelligible. Annie took a sip of beer, foam sticking to her nose, which she expertly licked off. _Mikasa must have it good with her._

“They never do this when a human's killed a human,” Annie said.

Just then Mikasa appeared, squeezing between the crowd and taking a seat beside Annie. She stole a swig of beer, swished it around her mouth, and then swallowed to say, “Did I miss anything?”

“Mostly just shouting,” Armin said.

Mikasa narrowed her eyes. “Are you actually planning on hunting the elf with them? You know there's no solid evidence.”

“They saw him crouching over Marco's dead body with the bloody arrow in hand,” Armin pointed out.

Annie shook her head. “If any of you lazy fucks ever talked with an elf, you'd see just how ludicrous this whole thing is. He probably just happened across the body and was going to deal with it kindly. They got framed.”

“I did think that. That's why I'm planning on talking to them before I do anything. Just to make sure,” Armin said, a little miffed that they wouldn't realize this. They'd known him for years. They really thought he'd just go out there, swords slashing?

Mikasa smiled. “That's more like the Armin I know.”

“You know he'll never admit to anyone who's not a girl for fear of getting laughed at by the guys, but Reiner Braun is pretty handy with a bow,” Annie remarked and then lifted her mug to take a long slow drink.

Armin's eyebrows furrowed and he spotted Reiner in the crowd, near the front, a ginormous beer the size of his head in his hand, sloshing it around and yelling with classic Braun zeal—the same zeal that got his knight father killed when he challenged the king to a duel. “Why would he kill Marco?” Armin asked.

Annie wiped her mouth. “I never said anything about that. Just that he's good with a bow.”

They all turned their heads when finally Reiner shouted above the din. “All right, shut your traps. We've heard a lot on both sides of the issue.” Everyone laughed and Armin shook his head. “The evidence is solid. That elven bastard killed our freckled princeling and his gruesome murder must be avenged!” He lifted his beer and everyone cheered. “So! All in favor of forming a special hunting party for the son of a bitch say aye!”

The tavern nearly shook off its foundations.

Reiner laughed again and clinked beers with his less-than-enthusiastic friend Berthold. “We go tomorrow night at dusk!” When he drank the rest of the beer he shouted, “A round of beers on me!” 

Everyone cheered again—even Annie. When Armin gave her a look, she said, “Free alcohol, Armin. The only worth of Reiner Braun.”

A waiter slapped three beers on the table and Annie gave him a salute. “All right, Mikasa, ready to get outrageously drunk?” She bared her teeth in a challenge. “Loser cleans the dishes.”

Armin sat back and watched them with an amused smile, ignoring his own beer. They eventually claimed it as their own and kept ordering until their mouths could no longer move to form speech. They were some of the last ones in there. By midnight, Annie was passed out on the table and Mikasa was staring at the wooden ceiling reciting poetry about those magnificent stars she was seeing. Armin enlisted the help of Connie to bring them home.

At the door, Mikasa pressed against the door frame and asked, “Whooo . . . who won?” She grabbed Armin's shirt and pulled him in close. “Don . . . don lie. I'll know if you're lyin.”

Armin glanced at the snoozing Annie. “You won, Mikasa.”

“Mm . . . goo . . .” She wobbled for a moment and then crashed face-first into Armin's chest. Armin patted her arm and took her inside. 

Outside, Connie gave him a look. “You still in love with her?”

Armin waved him off. “She's happy with Annie. I'm just focusing on avenging Marco.”

“And after that?”

“There's nothing wrong with being single.”

–

The next morning, Armin visited a hungover dish-washing Annie while Mikasa, the master of alcohol who rarely got anything worse than a minor headache, sharpened her newest steel creation.

“You can test it out tonight,” Mikasa said, giving it a swing. “If you use it responsibly and don't mindlessly kill any elves.”

“I'll try not to,” Armin said with a dry look. He borrowed it from her and swung it around. “It's really light . . .”

“Because you've got the physical stamina of a toothpick,” Annie offered over at the sink.

Armin frowned and handed the sword back.

“It suits you,” Mikasa said with a satisfied smile.

“Hey, Armin,” Annie said, turning around and leaning back against the sink. “If you get your hands on an elven bow, I want to take a look at it.”

Armin shrugged. “Sure.”

“I want to challenge Reiner to an archery contest and crush his racist ass. Maybe even steal Berthold away from him,” Annie said monotone. “You like Berthold don't you Mikasa?”

Mikasa shrugged. “I don't know him very well.” She continued sharpening the sword. “Armin, make sure to get a good meal before you go.”

He spent most of the day prepping his body for the venture into the forest, honing his skills. No one made swords as well as Mikasa, and Armin loved being the one to try them all out. Sometimes she even let him keep some for free, like his favorite throwing axes. In every one of her creations she engraved Annie's name somewhere. On this sword it was just above the hilt, so tiny you'd miss it unless you knew it was there. Armin liked it even more than his axes. Maybe he could strike a deal for it afterward.

And like Mikasa instructed, he ate a full five-course meal at the Wilted Rose before. He could barely walk over to Mikasa's to get suited up: with Mikasa weapons and Annie armor—she preferred Armin in leather. One couldn't fail with them as friends. 

He joined the others at the edge of town where Reiner was speechifying. Armin forwent the “encouragement” and just headed into the forest. Choosing dusk was probably not the safest decision. But of course Reiner and the townsfolk wanted the greatest challenge to make victory all the sweeter. Just adding to the name of stupidity, more like. These were elven woods. Now the elves had double the advantage. At least Armin had wits on his side. He'd find them if he was lucky, and ask questions first, slay later. Not that he wanted to slay anyone.

Ever so often, he'd hear voices of the others and see their flickering torchlight. That's how he saw _them_. The torch light lit their silhouettes. _How many elves are watching us all right now?_ Any time he tried to approach one, they flickered away like the torch light. They weren’t attacking. Yet. _That's a good sign I suppose._

Armin moved farther south east until he knew for sure no other humans were near. He crouch-walked, breathing silently so he could hear the smallest sound. When he heard some leaves rustle ahead, he stopped and pulled his new sword out halfway, flinching at the sound of the metal grating against the sheathe. Someone, animal or person, was only a few yards away.

“I want to talk,” Armin whispered, knowing his voice would carry in the silence. Slowly, he got to his feet, and so did the stranger. Even in just the moonlight, there was no mistaking that haircut. Of all the elves to finally make contact with . . .

The elf glanced down at Armin's half-drawn sword and nocked an arrow so fast Armin barely had time to dodge when it released. It ricocheted off the tree behind him. Armin stayed in the shelter of the undergrowth, breathing rapidly now.

The ground crunched to the right, and then the elf pounced on him, knife in hand. They rolled over the earth, Armin holding the attacker's wrists to keep the knife from a date with his heart. He kneed the elf in the stomach and then wrenched his hands away, smashing them into the ground on the next roll so he released the knife. The elf slammed his hand against Armin's ear and stopped their rolling by pinning the dizzy human down.

“I just . . . want to talk . . .” Armin insisted breathlessly.

The elf scowled down at him. “Is that why you've all invaded the forest? We didn't kill the freckled man.”

“You didn't?” Armin exclaimed.

“I found him,” the elf said. “We're not murderers.”

Armin breathed out in relief. “Annie was right. Look, I'm sorry for this whole thing. They can all get kind of hot-headed . . . especially when elves are involved.” He looked at the elf's pointed ears.

The elf shrugged and looked up into the forest. “I doubt your friends will believe me so readily. I hope for all our sakes you can convince them of the truth. I'd hate to actually kill one of you.” He looked back down at Armin. “As stupid as you are.”

“Can you . . . get off me now?” Armin tried wiggling his limbs.

The elf stared down at him. “What's your name?”

“A-Armin. Arlert. What's yours?”

The elf narrowed his eyes. “Jean.”

Before Armin could respond, Jean knocked him over the head.

He woke up the next morning on the ground against the tavern, probably mistaken for a drunk because no one had bothered to help him until now. Annie had thrown water in his face to wake him up. She blocked the morning sun, staring at him quite emotionlessly while Mikasa stood near, checking her sword for any problems.

“Ugh . . . what?” Armin said groggily.

“I don't know. We were just on our way from the market and saw you here and you looked sad. Couldn't make it all the way back? Stopped in for a pint?” Annie asked.

“I . . . don't know.” Armin shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his head.

“Did you even use this?” Mikasa asked.

“The others have been complaining about the 'cowardly elven bastards.' Blaming their own shortcomings on the elves, of course. I think they forgot they don't live in the forest and the elves do.” Annie stood up, no longer blocking the sun.

Armin squinted his eyes against the painful light. “I met an elf.”

“Maybe that's who dragged you back.” Mikasa sheathed her sword and offered a hand to Armin, pulling him up to his feet with a sharp tug. “I wish I could thank them.”

“It was the elf in question, actually.” Armin winced and rubbed his head again. Jean sure knew how to hit. “He said he didn't do it. And I have no reason to doubt him.”

Annie nodded in agreement. “But Reiner won't accept that. He'll call you an elf lover.”

“I don't mind that.” Armin sighed. “What if I say I killed Jean?”

They both blinked.

“Who's Jean?” Mikasa asked.

“The elf they're after,” Armin said.

“You're blushing,” Annie remarked with a smirk.

“What? No, I'm . . . I'm not.” Armin put his hair behind his ears and then let it back out again because he hated putting his hair behind his ears but he needed something to do as a distraction. He didn't like the way they were looking at him. “My face is probably just burned from sitting in the sun so long.”

Annie stared at him. “That must be it.”

“How you going to prove you killed Jean short of dragging his corpse back to Fuhrer Braun?” Mikasa pointed out.

“I'll figure something out. Maybe I can go talk to the elves again,” Armin said.

“A valid excuse to try and see him again,” Annie said.

“Eat and drink before you go. You haven't had anything for hours, and you'll need your strength if anything happens,” Mikasa said, handing him a roll from her pack of food they'd just bought at the market. 

“Like sex,” Annie added.

“And don't do anything stupid,” Mikasa added herself.

Armin spluttered out some nonsense and took a huge bite of the roll and ran away before they could further embarrass him. He stopped by his house to change clothes and rub the sleep out of his eyes. He thought about going unarmed, but there could always be hostile animals and bandits in the woods, so he put his two throwing axes on his belt and headed out. It wouldn't be so inflammatory going into the woods alone and during the day. The forest was actually quite pleasant when there wasn't threat of an arrow in the head or--

An arrow lifted to his face and Armin froze. He put his hands up and stared at the face of his elven . . . friend. She had thick brown hair strung up in a ponytail, brown eyes glaring. She had two others with her, who stared at him in disinterest.

“What do you want?” she asked. “We're in the middle of a hunt and you're scaring all the animals away with your pleasant strolling!”

Armin blinked. “I'm sorry. I'm just looking for someone.”

“Ah, well, they probably got eaten. The bears in this forest are really vicious. And always hungry,” she said.

Armin's eyes widened and the other elves chuckled.

The glare left the woman's eyes, replaced with sparkling good fun. She lowered her arrow and made a hand gesture to the others. They took up watch of the forest.

“I'm Sasha of Clan Trost,” she said, curving her arm over her torso, fist over her heart.

Armin tried it too. “Armin Arlert.”

“Oh, you're the human Jean ran into last night.” She put her bow over her body. “Did you convince the half-wits you live with that they should use someone else to cover up their own people's murders? That wasn't even an elven arrow. Human arrows are miserable, actually, and this one was no exception.”

“Do you still have it? Jean's actually the one I was looking for,” Armin said.

Sasha shrugged. “He _might_ still have it but I don't care enough to keep track of these things. Why do you want to see him?”

“I . . . to apologize. For last night. Us running rampant through your forest with torches and pitchforks.” It could have been half true. Not that Armin's apology meant much when everybody else didn't agree with him. And he had already gave Jean a similar apology last night, but that really didn't matter since he was lying anyway . . .

Sasha tilted her head to the side. “And for that you want to apologize specifically to . . . Jean?”

“Well, both him and your . . . leader,” Armin said. “I might have left Jean some bruises.”

Sasha burst out laughing. When she regained her voice, she half-laughed out, “That's funny.”

“I can tell from your incessant laughter . . .” Armin said weakly.

“All right, all right, just follow me and don't do anything stupid.”

The camp sat near the cliff edge overlooking the lake. Two watchtowers stood at either end. Another sheer cliff separated the camp from the forest, leaving only two exits, both by those watchtowers—three if you counted jumping in the lake. Armin swallowed as they passed the towers, the guards staring him down, fingers twitching near their bows.

“I'm surprised you didn't blindfold me,” Armin said to Sasha.

She snorted. “Why? You going to attack our camp? Oh, I'd like to see how that pans out.”

They stopped in the center by the edge. Armin peered over the three hundred foot drop and his stomach have started down it somewhat. Sasha grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled him back before he toppled over.

“Stay here. I'll get the shaman.” She made another hand signal to the others. One went off in another direction, and the other stayed, staring out over the lake, wind blowing through his hair, face contemplative. Armin caught himself staring. Luckily, before the elf could notice, the other one returned with a squishy roll and offered it to Armin.

“Thank you,” Armin said and set it in his palm. It didn't look too appetizing. With a glance at the expectant elves, he popped the dumpling in his mouth and smiled. Then he quickly bent over and spit it out into his hand. It tasted like beefy horse shit. With a hint of sugared almond. He shoved it back in his mouth and forced a smile while the elves laughed at him.

As he melted in embarrassment, Sasha returned with a tiny black-haired elf sporting a most sour expression. The others parted, and this shaman folded his arms, eyes running up and down Armin, leaving the sensation of ants crawling over Armin's skin.

“I'm Levi, shaman of this clan. Sasha says you came to . . .” He sneered. “Apologize.”

“On behalf of my town. They can get a little rash sometimes. More than a little.” Armin sighed. “Honestly, they don't give a damn, but I felt like it was important to apologize to you anyway.” He bowed, hair falling in front of his face. “And if there's anything you need, I'd be happy to assist in any way I can to make up for last night.”

Levi looked off to the side. “Go back to your _friends_ and tell them to stay out of our woods unless they'd like an arrow up their ass.”

Armin flinched and straightened up. “Does that include me? I mean, not all of us mean any ill will towards you. We might appreciate more dealings with your clan. After all, we know so little about each other. It might be a beginning in mending relations between our peoples.” He had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but it sounded like a good idea. If it meant Annie got more time to interact with elves, and Armin could see Jean more, and the clan and town could open up trade in the future, then he was all for it. Though a sad event had sparked this whole thing up, Marco's death was the perfect opportunity to start hammering away at the wall the humans and elves had put up between their two cultures.

“Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?” Levi said. “Do you hold any influential status within your town?”

“Well . . . no . . .” They actually saw him and Annie and Mikasa somewhat as the town kooks. “But that could always change. It's not like I've striven for an influential position. I've been quite happy with where I am.” 

Levi narrowed his eyes. “But now suddenly you're introducing all these plans?”

For a moment, Armin just stared at him. Then he swallowed and lifted his chin. “Things change. And this whole situation has made me see possibilities I'd never much thought about before.”

Behind Levi, Sasha smiled a little, but Armin didn't know why. But the smile was directed at him, and something about it sparked up the embarrassment once more.

“Fine. I accept your apology. We'll see,” Levi said, waving a hand.

Armin almost choked. “Just like that?”

“I only agreed to try improving relations. You're obviously the mastermind.” He smirked. “And you better hope for your sake you're serious. I don't like jokes. Especially of the human variety.” He nodded his head once and walked away.

Sasha chuckled. “Well that was wildly different than anything I had expected. You still want to see Jean?”

“If that's all right,” Armin said quietly.

“He's babysitting at the moment. I'll get him for you. You can wait for him in his house.” She led him to one of the smaller shelters, pulling the hide flap open for Armin. Inside a little fire smoldered, keeping the house a cozy temperature. Countless rugs, hide and natural fabrics a like, covered the floor. Armin wouldn't be surprised if the wooden furniture had been hand-carved by Jean himself. A cloth flag donning a pair of black and white wings hung on the wall, and beneath it, a carved wooden statue of a rose bud.

A few moments later, the door moved and Jean appeared. He straightened up and for a split second, Armin caught a little smile. The elf frowned his best and inched closer to Armin until he was looking down at him with a raised brow. “I shouldn't have told you my name. Now you'll never leave me alone. Just like those Leonheart people never left us alone before they died.”

“I wanted to thank you. Not for knocking me out—it still hurts—but taking me back,” Armin said with a little smile.

Jean let his other eyebrow join its brother.

“And . . . to ask you if you still have the arrow you found in Marco,” he added, eyes scanning the shelter again.

“Marco? The freckled man? Are you sure your kind is ready for the implications?”

“Well, they can't run from the truth forever. And . . . perhaps it will help in alleviating the injustices done towards both our people.”

Jean looked off to the side and sighed. But he skirted round Armin and made his way into the other room. Despite himself, Armin followed. It was Jean's bedroom, small and neat, with the clan flag strung on the wall, flanked by two bows, one kid-sized. Jean stood with his back to Armin, gently taking an arrow out of a quiver from the top of a chest. Armin watched the way his visible back muscles moved, especially his shoulder blades. And then Jean turned and he gave Armin a slightly annoyed look. “What are you doing in my room?”

Armin put his hands up and backed out, Jean moving with him until the blond hit into a wall. The elf stopped in front of him, the concept of a personal space bubble a myth, and held the arrow between the two of them. Carefully, Armin curled his fingers around its slender metal base, keeping his eyes on Jean.

Immediately, Jean let go. “It's not an elven arrow. First, it's too heavy. Second--” His finger pressed against the point, thumb caressing just below. “The head is straight; the arrow is too easy to remove. And this . . .” His hand moved down, brushing over Armin's hand the tiniest, fingering the fletching. “It's a disgrace to the art of the bow and arrow. Made by someone with practically no experience. We wouldn't even make something this profane as a joke.”

Armin finally removed his eyes from Jean and looked at the arrow. “Do you think they'll believe me?”

“I wouldn't begin to claim understanding of humans. But maybe you can . . . match it to someone's arrows.” Jean's mouth lifted a little. “Maybe the big blond. Reiner something? The one who 'saw' me kill the fr—Marco?”

Armin sighed. “Annie was right.”

“Anyway,” Jean said loudly. “You should go.”

“Yeah . . .” Armin stared at him, at his sharp profile.

Jean's eye looked over, but Armin kept on staring. The elf grunted and then went back to his bedroom. He returned a moment later with the adult-sized bow from the wall and presented it to Armin.

“W-what?” Armin gasped.

“Take it. As a gift of solidarity. And as apology for smashing your head.” He looked away, cheeks going pink.

“Shouldn't _I_ be giving a gift of--”

Jean moved it closer. “Take it before I don't feel like giving it to you anymore.”

“Won't you be bow-less then?” Armin asked.

Jean laughed. “I'll make another one. Just take the bow.”

“Only if you promise to give me lessons,” Armin said. When jean gave him a suspicious look, Armin said, “It'd be a waste to not use it, and I've never used one before. Who better to teach me than an elf? I may be even better than Reiner.”

“I'm sure that's not too difficult,” Jean snorted. He folded his arms. “Fine. So you don't make a fool of yourself with my bow.”

Armin smiled brightly.

“I hunt in the north forest on the Day of Rose—er—Wednesday,” Jean said.

“Okay.” Armin lifted the bow and tested the string.

Jean paled.

Slowly, Armin lowered the bow. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“Just don't let any of the others see you do that,” Jean said. He took the bow from Armin's hands and slipped it over the blond's body. “Hold it like that when you're not using it.” His hands lingered on the wood until he realized they'd been there longer than was normal and he quickly let go.

“Okay.”

–

As promised, Armin let Annie take a look at the bow. While she played with it, studying its every atom, Armin gave both she and Mikasa a rundown of the day's events. Neither seemed bothered by the idea, which was encouraging. If anyone was going to think he was doing something good, it would be them.

“And this is the arrow that killed Marco,” Mikasa said, picking it up from the table top. “It's human made, that much is obvious. Do you have direct proof Reiner did it, though?”

“Literally no one else besides him has a bow,” Annie said, finally joining them at the table. “Except for Armin now. Believe I know. Look, no one's going to believe you even if you show them this arrow. Mostly because it's you and they have no reason to trust you. Especially since they saw you walk in here with a bow. They'll come up with reasons, no matter how stupid. But if it comes from someone they trust, then maybe they'll listen.”

Armin nodded slowly. “Who do you have in mind?”

“Berthold,” she said. “He's Reiner's right-hand man, but I know for a fact he doesn't hate the elves like Reiner and half the people in the town do. He'll listen.”

“Even though he'll be told his best friend killed Marco?” Armin said warily.

But Annie was unfazed. “Yes. Trust me on this.”

“Well I do trust you.” Armin sighed. “All right. You can take care of it.”

Annie nodded in satisfaction and then took the arrow from Mikasa's hands. “This arrow sucks ass. Of course it's something Reiner would use. I'm going to grind his ass into the ground.” When Mikasa smiled, Annie snorted. “Let me rephrase: I'm going to take this son of a bitch down so hard he'll be crying for his dead mother to come back from the grave.”

“That's harsh,” Armin said.

“Not as harsh as I'd like.” She got up and took the bow with her into the bedroom.

Mikasa looked at Armin's worried face and put a hand over his. “Let Annie worry about that. You just focus on practicing archery with the elf. This could be the start of a new era. When do you see him next?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Her eyebrows raised.

Armin scooted his chair back. “When you find something that makes you happy, you go after it right? With all you got?”

A glow entered her eyes. “Yeah. You do.”

–

First day of practice Jean considered a day to forget. He left Armin with specific instructions of how to practice at home, which Armin followed to the letter for the next three days. And when he saw Jean again, his practice paid off. This time that look of Jean's personal apocalypse avoided the elf's eyes, replaced instead with hope. Now that Armin wasn't completely slaughtering his people's art, he was free to focus on teaching him the fundamentals. Armin listened—stared a lot—and failed a lot.

After a week Jean wasn't cringing anymore, which helped Armin relax because he didn't feel like he was disappointing him. Every time Jean touched Armin, a palm on his back to get Armin to straighten up, or a nudge on the arm when he held it wrong, or his hands on the sides of Armin's head to position it correctly, his blood did pirouettes on their journey through his veins, making his entire body tingle.

On day ten of their almost daily encounters, they paused to take refuge from the boiling noon sun under some thick-leaved oak trees. While Armin chugged most of the water in his canteen, Jean climbed up to the canopy, swallowed up by a mini-forest of green leaves. Armin had never climbed a tree in his life, but he wanted to follow Jean, to see what he saw. So he put his canteen on his belt and started up.

Halfway up his foot slipped and his arms flailed. Jean appeared out of nowhere, grabbing a hold of his forearm and dragging him up to a large branch. “What are you trying to do?” he asked, perched on a branch perfectly still like it was solid ground.

Armin sucked up the trunk of the tree. “You vanished and I wanted to see where you went.”

“Where else can I go when I'm climbing a tree?” Jean asked, rolling his eyes. He muttered something in elvish and then looked up. “It has a nice view. But if you want to climb trees, for the gods' sake, let me help you, or you'll end up falling and breaking your neck. Then your humans really will have a reason to come after me.”

“So you're only concerned about yourself if I fall to my doom?” Armin asked.

“Exactly. I'm glad you understand.” He turned away to hide the smile in his eyes, but Armin saw it and it made happiness bubble up inside him. “So do you still want to go up?”

“Maybe later,” Armin said. “Right now I'm feeling kind of sick.”

“I'll help you down.” Jean swung to a lower branch and then put a hand up.

Armin took a few breaths and then reached down. He slipped his weight off the branch, body moving right up against Jean's. But while he was busy drowning in bliss at being so close to this perfection of elven creation, Jean was plotting their way down the tree, and quickly moved down. But each time they moved to a lower branch, Armin got to stand right up to Jean.

It ended when they got to the bottom—well, after Jean caught Armin under his arms and then swung him down to the ground. Armin wobbled dizzily over the ground, but not from jumping. More like from the ecstasy running his veins. Annie's constant remarks about Armin having sex with Jean entered Armin's head and at the moment, they actually sounded quite lovely.

“You okay?” Jean asked.

“Mhm. Yep. I am. Very okay.” Armin clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. “Thanks.”

Jean stared at him. “Uh huh. So, do you want to continue, or are you done for the day?”

“Oh, I can keep going,” Armin said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

Jean narrowed his eyes. “All right. Let's go.”

–

After two and a half weeks Armin was better, but still having troubles. Eventually Jean voiced his own explanation for the issues. “You focus too much on the mechanics. Using a bow is art, not just mathematics,” he said, putting his fists on his hips.

“Well, art used mathematics. Just on a level most artists choose to ignore or instead relabel in artistic terms.”

Jean shook his head. “All I'm saying is you need to feel it more than letting mathematical analysis take the forefront. Windage, height, arc, and distance—you can get that without focusing so much on the numbers. Instinct. Use your instinct too. Don't hinder it so much with thinking.”

 _All right . . . instinct . . . instincts . . . the wind is there . . . arc . . . probably . . ._ He pulled back the string. _Balance . . . distance . . . 20 meters . . ._ The arrow moved up an inch. His breathing slowed.

A finger tapped his elbow and he brought it up.

 _That feels right . . . I guess . . . wait . . . no . . . My last shot missed to the left . . ._ He moved to the right. _Maybe that . . . Stop thinking so much . . . release . . ._

The arrow released and barely stuck into the left side of the tree, just outside of the target. He lowered the bow and frowned. “Still off.”

Jean walked over and yanked the arrow out. “But you almost hit the target. Just think a little less. You hesitated. Second guessed yourself.” He handed the arrow to Armin. “It's been five days since you started practicing. It took me months to get good and years to get great. Don't rush.” He patted Armin once on the arm and then leaped off up the hill.

A few seconds later, panting, Armin stood at his side, looking out over the southern woods. A movement caught his eye, and a second later Jean had shot an arrow into the void. They watched it arc up and then sink down through the air, quickly swallowed by the canopy of leaves.

“Where'd it go?” Armin asked.

“Let's see.” Jean put his bow around his torso and started down.

Whereas Jean never lost balance, hopping from rock to rock and swinging on the occasional low branch, Armin's toe caught in a little animal den and he rolled all the way to the bottom of the hill. He lay spread-eagled at the bottom, staring at the blue sky, not feeling very in the mood to the mood.

Jean hovered over him. “That's one way to get down.” He picked a twig out of Armin's hair. “You'd make a sorry elf.” He held out a hand and pulled Armin up when he took it. “But . . .” He tilted his head to the side to evaluate Armin as he brushed himself off. “It's impossible to dislike you.”

“Really . . .? I think Reiner--”

Jean gave him a dry look. “You think that includes shit-faced assholes?”

“I . . .” But Armin didn't know what he was going to say, and instead settled on, “Thanks . . . I . . . thanks.” He combed through his hair. “What about your arrow?”

They traveled over the rocky ground for a couple of minutes until it opened up to a little meadow. And in the near middle sat a stump. A few feet away, Jean's arrow stuck out of the ground. Armin watched with an amused smile as Jean cursed and retrieved it.

“Some kind of elf thing?”

“See who can hit the stump from up on the hill. Sasha's hit nearest. Only a few inches away.” He stuck the arrow in his quiver and set the whole thing against the stump along with his bow.

“Maybe I can try,” Armin said.

About a minute and a half later Jean finally stopped laughing.

“Now that we're done being funny, I have some hunting to do soon. Until then I'm lying right here and taking a nap.” He lay down in the grass and played with a yellow flower near his head.

“So . . . we're done for today?”

“Mhm.”

Armin bit his lip. “Maybe I can go with you.”

“I thought we were done being funny.”

“Why's that funny?” Armin asked with an edge.

Jean opened his eyes and propped himself up by his elbows. “I . . . don't know who my clanmates would feel about that. Bow lessons from me is one thing. Hunting with us is another.”

“It's not as if I'm trying to join your clan or anything. It's like . . . joint hunting. To aid relations between our two people. That's what part of this is about, right? At least, I told your shaman that. Hunting with you is just another step,” Armin pointed out.

“So that's why I'm giving you lessons?” Jean asked dryly.

“Well part of it.” Armin stared at a length of grass. “Mostly I just wanted to . . . uh . . . spend time with you.”

“Why would you want to spend time with me?”

Armin blinked.

“It's not some elf study is it? Because if it is I'm leaving right now and letting you find your own way out of the forest,” Jean said with a scowl. “Elves aren't things to study. We're people. Just like humans.”

Armin held his hands up defensively. “No, of course not. Not even close. I want to spend time with you because I . . . well because I . . .” He took a steadying breath and let his hands fall back down at his sides. They turned into light fists. He looked straight into Jean's eyes without blinking, and maybe the tiniest blush touched his cheeks, but he ignored it and said, “I want to spend time with you because I like you. That's what you do when you like people, right? Spend time with them.”

The scowl faded, replaced by faint surprise. Jean's mouth formed an O. “Why would you like me? I tried to kill you the first time I met you.”

“Considering the circumstances—everyone else trying to kill you, in case you'd forgotten—it's understandable,” Armin said, deflated from the lessening stress. Jean was taking it better than he'd expected. “It'd be nice to have another friend. So if you're up for that . . .” He shrugged.

Jean's face softened and he lay back down and closed his eyes. “I suppose that would be all right. You're not bad for a human.”

Armin smiled. “So about the hunt--”

“Fine,” Jean sighed. “Are you staying or going?”

“Uh--” Armin looked around. “Well you're not doing anything but sleeping now right so--”

“Are you staying or going?” Jean asked again.

Armin chewed on his lips and then carefully sat down. “I _suppose_ ,” he said, mimicking Jean, “it'd be a waste to walk all the way back to town when I'm going to be hunting with you later anyway.”

Jean snorted.

“Maybe taking a nap in the forest will make me more one with it.” Armin set his bow and arrows aside and lay his head down on a smooth stone. He looked over at Jean, whose eyes still remained closed. Armin looked at the line of his body, mostly his barely-parted lips, and the curve of his torso. He smiled again and then closed his eyes as well.

“One with the forest.” Jean scoffed. “Go ahead and try it. Tell me what you find.”

“Okay,” Armin whispered and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Sasha woke up him, poking her foot into his stomach. He let out a gargled noise and then sat right up. She started laughing, which woke up Jean, who started cursing Sasha out in their elvish language—well, Armin didn't know elvish, but it sure sounded awful. She spat back some foul language of her own, a grin on her face.

“So why's he here?” she asked in the common tongue.

Armin gave her a miffed look and got to his feet.

Jean was already up, stretching his shoulders, and looking at the sky to see what time it was. “He's going hunting with us.”

“What?” one of the other elves gasped. “But he's a human.”

“Excellent observation, Mylius. You should get a gold star for that,” Jean said. Next he stretched his arms out and cracked all his knuckles. 

Meanwhile Armin watched his back muscles again, his face growing hot. Sasha laughed again and punched Armin in the arm. Armin looked to her sharply and moved away, holding his arm where she'd punched it. “What was that for?” he asked weakly.

“Jean, enough showing off. Get to it.” She picked up his bow and tossed it to him. 

He caught it without looking and then turned to them. “Armin might scare all the prey away. Try not to get too angry.”

Armin was too busy floating in the clouds hearing Jean say his name to the other elves to feel offended. He was still floating when they all started away. Jean had to call him, and the sound of his name on the elf's lips got him moving.

Either Armin scared away the prey by moving too loudly, or by completely missing and alerting all animals in the area to the presence of a hunter. The other elves snickered while Sasha tried to cheer him up with pointers, and Jean made up for his mistakes. The last deer, Armin _did_ manage to hit in the rump, but not being a kill shot, it skedaddled. The elves let it go and instead checked some snares they'd made earlier in the day, yielding three rabbits, and two squirrels. They were almost to camp, Sasha blabbing about the wonders of venison, when Armin caught sight of the watchtower in the distance and stopped. The nameless elves kept walking, but Jean and Sasha stopped with Armin.

“What's wrong?” Jean asked.

Armin rubbed his arm—still the place where Sasha punched him. “I'd feel awkward walking in to your camp after hunting with you. I don't know, like they'd all think I was intruding.”

“If anyone tries to bother you or talk shit, I'll throw them over the cliff,” Sasha offered.

“O-oh. That's generous,” Armin said.

Jean rolled his eyes at Sasha. “If you don't want to go in, I understand. I'll see you another day. Do you want to take a squirrel back?” He held one of them up—the fattest one even—ignoring Sasha's protests.

“Thanks,” Armin said, taking it in his hands. “How about . . . the Day of Sina? Sunday, right?”

“That's right,” Jean said with a half-smile. “On the hill. I want to see you try to hit the stump so I can get a good laugh in.”

Armin gave him a dry look. “Fine.”

“Another time, Armin,” Sasha said, slapping him on the back and then jogging to catch up with her comrades. That left just Armin and Jean, staring at each other, each holding dead animals, not knowing what to say even though goodbye was usually customary in these kinds of situations, but at the moment their brains forgot that little fact.

“Maybe one time you can come visit me in town,” Armin said.

“Even if you convinced everyone I didn't kill Marco, I don't think anyone's ready for that. Besides, I like the woods.” Jean put his hand on a tree trunk, rubbing his thumb over a knot. “But things can change. Maybe one day.”

Armin's eyes lowered. “One day.”

“Stay safe,” Jean said and stomped on after Sasha.

“You too,” Armin said quietly, though Jean was too far away to hear.

–

“I've made some refinements to this bow,” Mikasa said, pulling on the string a little and handing it to Armin who sat at the table eating stew. He made a face, so she quickly defended her work. “I studied this bow every day since you got it--”

“Since Jean gave it to him,” Annie added over at the fireplace, scooping some stew into bowls for Mikasa and herself.

Mikasa glanced at her. “Since Jean gave it to you. I didn't just make these refinements on the fly. The elves are masters of their work, but it never hurts to add in ideas from someplace else. That's how progress is made. How great ideas are often born. So give it a whirl.”

“What exactly did you do?” Armin asked, setting his spoon in the bowl and picking the bow up. He tested the string, which wasn't nearly as tight. He'd have to readjust, but it felt more comfortable for his arm.

She slapped a paper on the table. “All my notes are there.”

Armin gingerly picked it up and skimmed the contents. “Thanks. I'll look over it tonight before I go to bed. Oh, Annie?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you finally show Berthold the arrow?” he asked.

She walked over and set two bowls on the table, handing a spoon to Mikasa when the brunette sat down. “I did. Now that I've gotten closer to him, gained his trust, maybe even become a friend, all that shit, we're forming a strategy to spread the truth without Reiner knowing. And Berthold knows Reiner best. And it'll be more convincing for them coming from Reiner's right-hand man and not you.”

“Sadly,” Armin said, sighing. “I hope it works out. If you need any help--”

“We got it handled.” Annie took a seat herself and stared at the stew. “So is this any good?”

Mikasa shrugged as she put a spoonful in her mouth. “No better than you usually make it.”

Annie looked at Armin, who just nodded in agreement. “Damn,” she said, sticking the spoon in the bowl and sloshing it around. “Berthold gave me his own recipe, but I'm not an expert at cooking.”

“We know,” Mikasa said and took a sip of water.

“Did you know there's a floor in our bedroom,” Annie said.

“Did you want to sleep there?” Mikasa asked innocently and then took another bite of stew.

“The stew's great, Annie,” Armin said, finishing his off. He stood up, bow in hand. “I'm going to head home. Thank you for supper, and thank you Mikasa for the bow.”

Right before he left, he heard Annie say, “At least he appreciates my cooking.”

Followed by Mikasa saying, “You know you make up for it in bed. No one is better than you.”

“Good.”

The door closed and Armin stood outside, breathing in the warm night air. He put the bow over his body and started on his way. Around the corner of a building, a hand suddenly appeared on his chest and pushed him back into the wall. He groaned and wrapped his fingers around the stranger's thick wrist, trying in vain to push him off. When the guy spoke, Armin's heart fell and he looked up slowly.

“So what's this?” Reiner asked, touching the bow with his other hand.

“Being an expert bowman yourself, I'm surprised you don't know. Maybe the low quality of your bow makes a difference. Humans aren't as skilled in--”

Reiner slid his hand up to Armin's throat. “An expert bowman myself? You think I'd used something those pointy eared heathens use? Funny, Arlert. Funny. You've been spending a lot of time in those woods. I hope you've been spending it well.”

Armin clawed at his skin to no avail. And he couldn't speak because it came out in a choked garbled mess.

“Please tell your lovely friend Annie Leonhart to stay away from my boy Bertl. Don't want your contamination leaking to any more pure specimens, or we might have an epidemic on our hands,” Reiner said thoughtfully.

Armin kneed him in the stomach, but Reiner only made the tiniest grunt. As the big guy laughed, Armin glanced behind him and then tried to speak again. When Reiner caught onto that, he leaned down closer. “What's that?”

“M—M---Mikasa is behind you,” Armin said.

Immediately Reiner released Armin and turned around. Armin almost slumped to the ground, but managed to keep himself up by pressing up against the wall. His fingers caressed his throat. Meanwhile Mikasa stood a few feet away, a paper in her hand, eyes narrowed as she stared at a now sweating Reiner.

“Reiner,” she said deadpan.

Reiner swallowed. “Mikasa.”

Her eyes moved to Armin. “You forgot the notes.” She took a step forward and Reiner jumped out of the way. Mikasa folded the paper and stuck it in Armin's pocket before helping him up. Then she turned to Reiner. “You have something on your face—just by your mouth.” She pointed to the spot on her own face.

“What—what is it? Where? I don't--”

“Right--” Mikasa pointed and then her hand curled into a fist and she socked him in the jaw “--there.”

“Dammit!” Reiner cried, falling back. He barely caught his balance in time and then ran off into the darkness.

Mikasa looked at Armin. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Armin murmured. “Thanks.”

“Good night,” she said and walked back to her house.

When Armin got back he collapsed on his bed and let out a long shaky breath. Reiner had already killed Marco. He could easily kill Armin too. Armin curled into a ball on his side, hugging his knees to his chest. “Best not to think about it. Just don't think about it.” But he dreamed about Reiner killing him. Again. And again.

–

Over the next few days he noticed other people staring at him, and it made him feel self-conscious. Annie blamed it on her and Berthold's plan, which eased his stress a little, but he still didn't like everyone looking at him like he was this foreign artifact. At least they seemed to be taking the information seriously, weighing over time. Armin wished they'd all just decide to believe it so he didn't have to worry about them wanting to hunt Jean anymore. And so Reiner could be ousted as the town hero and instead thrown in a dungeon for the rest of his life—Armin wasn't fond of lifetime in a dungeon until Reiner basically threatened to kill him and actually half-choked him. There were even light bruises.

Armin tried to cover them up on Sunday for his hunting expedition with Jean but only a scarf would suffice and it was hot outside so he forwent it and hoped the bruises were just light enough for Jean not to notice.

The first words out of Jean's mouth: “Who the hell did that?”

“I got it from an accident. I'm actually quite clums--”

“Shut up and tell me who did that,” Jean said, face stone-cold and frightening. He came over to Armin and gently touched the skin on his neck. “No. I know who it was. It was that Reiner Braun wasn't it?” He turned away and cursed in elvish. “He deserves an arrow in the head.” Armin tried to speak but then Jean turned around so fast he snapped his mouth closed. “Did he try to kill you?”

“No, more like threatening me, but--”

Jean put his finger to Armin's lips. “There are no buts. Have you told your town of his treachery?”

“Annie and Berthold are working on it,” Armin said against his finger.

Jean moved away. “Why'd you place this in their hands?”

“Berthold's close to Reiner so people are more likely to believe him than me.”

“Because you're an elf lover?” Jean shook his head. “Damn humans. Is it working?”

“I think so. But it's hard for them to believe elves over humans. They respect Reiner. They have for a long time,” Armin said. “I'm sure it'll all work out okay. Don't . . . don't do anything. Just leave it to them, okay?”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Did you think I'd be the one to shoot him in the head with an arrow?”

“I--” Armin closed his mouth and clenched his jaw.

“Well you're probably right.” He considered Armin for a moment, a look in his eye Armin couldn't quite place but it wasn't _bad_ , not at all. Then he turned away and nocked an arrow. “Are you ready for some more lessons, Armin? Maybe if you get good enough you can scare Reiner with some near-hits. What do you say?”

Armin ran his fingers over his bow. “That's not my style.”

“Too bad.” Jean turned back. “You ready to try to hit the stump?”

“Sure.” Armin jumped up onto a rock by Jean and lifted his bow. Before he could fire, Jean put his hand on the arrow and shoved it down. In shock, Armin released the arrow and it hit off the rock, bouncing through the air and sticking up against a shrub.

“What happened to your bow?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Oh.” Armin blushed. “Mikasa made some adjustments.”

Jean gave Armin his bow and took Armin's against his will. He nocked an arrow and then pulled back. Instantly he let it go slack so he could pull it back again. He did this a few times before he was finally ready. Armin watched his eyes travel along the length of the bow, taking every minute detail of the wood, and then finally the grip for his hand. With a glow in his eye and bared teeth, he tilted the bow so it was sideways and then drew the arrow back. He let it fly a few seconds later and they both watched it soar over the canopy and then sink into the depths. A bird let out a screech and flew off in a flurry of feathers.

“Remarkable,” Jean murmured, gazing over the bow again. “She actually improved it. I'm sure Levi would like to meet her.” He switched bows again. “Maybe she can teach me to do this with my own bow.”

Armin smiled. “I'll talk to her.”

“All right, sorry for the delay. Go right ahead.” Jean hopped off the rock and watched.

Biting down on his tongue, Armin drew the string back and made the necessary calculations. Then he released. Almost right away a strong breeze took the arrow off to the right and far out of the vicinity of the stump. Armin watched with parted lips, a sad glint in his eyes—and of course Jean got his good laugh in.

“I'd say it was a valiant effort, but . . .” Jean put his hand on his shoulder. “Not even a better bow could save you. Just wait until you've been practicing for months. Then you'll remember today and laugh too.” He smacked Armin on his gut—Armin let out a giant “OOF”—and then headed down the hill.

They practiced near the edge of the woods by the lake. First it was practical shooting. Then they took a break to work on traps and snares, which Armin could actually do. They tried shooting again, and then actual hunting. When it yielded no results Armin sighed and sat down on a fallen log, pulling out his canteen and taking a long glorious drink.

He jumped, the canteen flying out of his hand, when Jean sat down on the log beside him. Jean reached out and caught it and then drank the last of it. He handed it back by smashing it into Armin's chest, and while Armin was speechless, Jean just stared out into the trees dramatically—or maybe elves just did that. Armin put the canteen away and then rested his hand on his knees.

“I wonder if my snares have caught anything,” he said after a long moment of silence.

“If not, you can't blame yourself,” Jean said, sounding distracted. He was still staring off with faraway eyes, and seemingly at nothing. At trees. A thousand trunks that all looked practically alike. Nothing remarkable—surely not to anyone who had spent their entire life in the forest. Jean probably knew exactly where they were by how that tree immediately to their right looked. Or the stone by Armin's foot. Or the slight raise in the elevation behind them. Maybe he was taking that all in. Calculating.

 _No. Not for five minutes. Does he really have nothing to say to me?_ Armin got to his feet without a word and started moving. He heard no sign of pursuit, but he kept going anyway. One hundred yards away he got a little curious and looked behind him but nothing. Jean wasn't on the log anymore. Armin stopped walking and made an irritated noise. “What . . . Where the hell did he . . .” He turned back around and yelled, throwing his bow off into the foliage.

“That's no way to treat your bow,” Jean said, standing right in front of him. He soundlessly bounded over to the bow and picked it up, brushing off the dirt. “The bow that used to be mine. Remember.” He came back and rested it in Armin's palm.

Armin stared at him. “That's incredible.”

“What is?” Jean looked to either side.

Armin pressed his fist into Jean's abdomen. “You didn't make a sound.”

“So?” Jean asked.

“So that's incredible,” Armin said.

“You could do it too,” Jean pointed out. “Even with your heavier bone structure. Then again, you did say you were clumsy earlier, and that's true.” He started moving his head closer to Armin's as he spoke. “You have to have a good sense of balance to prowl the forest without making a noise.” He was inches away and Armin wasn't breathing. But then Jean turned away and started off again. “Let's go check your snares.”

“God Almighty,” Armin muttered and followed him.

One snare caught a rabbit. The rest came up empty. But Armin took that rabbit and he made a fire right then and there and cooked it, all the while Jean smiling at him from across the fire. Of course Armin didn't notice, too enraptured in his rabbit. And by the time he finally did look up at Jean, the elf was polishing his bow.

“I hope your clan doesn't think badly of you for spending so much time with me,” Armin said.

“They don't,” Jean said quickly.

Armin sat back and bent his knees. “That's good.”

Jean blew on his bow and then lifted it, pulling back the empty string and closing one eye. “What do you think Reiner would do if he saw me about to shoot him? I've never actually tried to kill a human besides you. I'm not fond on the idea. But Reiner . . . I could definitely get behind that.”

“You'd just end up starting a real war,” Armin said.

The elf lowered the bow. “Too bad.”

“Besides, I don't want anyone to kill him. That's not how things work. That's not how it should work, at least. If you're going to kill someone . . . it has to be like with you and me. Self defense. Though, I'm glad that worked out. I like being alive,” Armin said, wrapping his arms around his legs.

“So do I,” Jean said. “I like being alive quite a lot.”

“Hey, Jean?” Armin asked tentatively, tapping a finger against his thigh.

Jean looked from his finger to his eyes. “What?”

“Could you teach me your language?”

For a moment Jean's face empties of all emotion but surprise. Finally when he regains his composure he shrugs. “If you're serious about it.”

“I am,” Armin said eagerly.

Jean smirked. “You don't care what they think of you, do you? You don't care about getting close to my kind, learning how to use a bow, speak my language. Spending time with us. Better than me, I suppose.”

“Oh." Again he asked, "Are they really okay with you spending time with me?”

"I said--" Jean paused when he saw Armin's concerned expression and he let out a small breath of air. "A few are unhappy about it, and I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does. Still . . .” Jean picked up a stick and started drawing designs in the ground. “It's not enough to make me stop. It all has to start somewhere, right?”

Armin nodded. “First you and me, then Sasha. And then there's Annie and Mikasa on my side. Berthold too, I guess. There'll be more. I hope I'll get to see both our clan and village come together and be good friends, you know?”

“You're quite the optimist.” Jean lifted the stick and poked the meat. “It's done.”

They talked about constellations as they ate—the sun had gone down enough for the stars to poke up. And tonight was a cloudless night, perfect for viewing stars. In the forest, miles away from the torch light of the village, Armin could see every little star. Soon the Milky Way would be up, a giant band across the sky. A forest of stars, Jean called it. Armin liked that description.

“Come on,” Jean said, getting to his feet.

“Where we going?” Armin asked, afraid he was ready to turn in for the night. Right now, sleep seemed a distant memory, unable to overtake him. Right now, he wanted to spend the night talking about stars and mythology with Jean until his brain overloaded from all the information.

Instead of answering his question, Jean just leaped off. Armin ran as fast as he could as not to lose sight of the quick elf in the darkness. They ended up on a smooth stony cliff side beside the river. It overlooked the lake—miles down the shoreline the much higher cliff of the elven camp was visible, the watchtowers like thick black trees. The torchlight there were merely pinpricks on a black, violet, and indigo fabric that stretched around them.

The waxing gibbous hung above the lake, casting its light over the ripples. Near them, where the waterfall caused a frenzy, the colors flashed from silver to plum to that dark blue you only found at twilight. Armin jogged to the edge and sat down, setting his bow beside him. The cliff wrapped under, allowing him to swing his feet. Jean set his bow beside Armin's, and then began taking off his boots.

“This is amazing,” Armin said in the cool misty air. After so many hot days, the flecks of moisture from the river felt like heaven. The elvish camp probably felt magnificent during the summer, being so close to the lake.

Jean's shirt dropped to the ground beside Armin and a second later his dark shape jumped over the cliff.

“Jean!” Armin cried, leaning over to see Jean drop into the lake with a splash. A second later he bobbed back up to the surface and motioned for Armin to jump in as well.

Armin brought his feet up onto solid ground. That was a high jump. And the water was probably cold. But Jean was down there. And it did seem exciting. It was just another part of elven culture. And one of Armin's goals was to learn all he could about elven culture. It helped when there was an elf around, and the elf was down there.

“Okay, okay. Get a hold of yourself,” Armin said to himself. He placed his hands flat on the ground. “It's just a little drop. If Jean can do it, so can you. The water's probably nice. Just fabulous.” He pushed himself up. Swallowing, he peeked over the edge again.

Jean cupped his hands around his mouth and called him.

Armin moved back. “Right.” He pulled off his shirt and dropped it on top of Jean's. Next came his boots. Carefully, he set them nicely side-by-side. The stone was still warm from the sun. Armin watched his toes wiggle. “Okay.” He allowed ten seconds to steel himself, and then with a clear mind, he jumped over the edge.

At first all he felt was air and an alarming lack of solid ground beneath him. Then the water hit him, a wall of almost cold water that enveloped him and pulled him down towards the depths. The water was deeper under the waterfall, but the height of the fall sent him down so his feet touched the sandy bottom. He used it to bounce straight up to the surface and to air that he gulped in like he'd never tasted it before.

“That was dramatic,” Jean commented. He splashed some water towards Armin and then moved back away from the waterfall towards calmer water. Once there, he let his legs come up, and his arms spread out.

It was difficult—no, impossible, really actually impossible—to look away. Armin watched him, mouth open, eyes round. He looked so serene floating there on his back like a leaf. Slowly—and without taking his eyes off of Jean—Armin swam towards him. He only took small quiet strokes, perfectly happy with nothing that could be qualified as exercise. His pace gave him twenty luscious seconds of stare time, each second pitching him further and further into the depths of nonretractable love. The water shallowed the closer he got, enough that he could walk a few yards away from Jean’s position, the water surface just above his belly button. 

When he got close enough Jean noticed, his head movement causing tiny ripples to move away from his body. Blushing, Armin looked away quickly and pretended to play a game with his hand and the surface tension of the water.

He heard the water move—Jean move—but kept his eyes glued to his hand. That is until Jean's body shielded the moonlight, casting darkness over Armin's hand. So Armin swiveled his head up, pupils dilated bigger than ever before. His face felt warm enough to have been stuck in that fire—actually his whole body did, almost pulsing with heat. It took control of his hand, which lifted and traced the outline of Jean's pointed ear.

Jean grabbed Armin's wrists. Armin tried to think of an adequate apology for this breach of space, but before his thoughts could even begin to formulate, Jean had leaned forward to kiss him. Slowly Jean's hands moved down from Armin's wrists, lingering over the skin of his arms and then shoulders and then neck until they finally cupped his face. From there, Jean moved his lips down to Armin's chin, under his chin, down his chest until the water line. A little noise escaped Armin's lips, almost a summon. And Jean was there, returning to them with his own.

Finally Armin was able to think. He wrapped his arms around Jean's thin but well-muscled body, fingers spread out over his back to feel as much skin as possible. His skin was hot too, hotter than Armin's. Maybe it was an elf thing—or maybe it was just a Jean thing. Either way Armin loved it and he didn't want to part from it.

And Jean didn't disappoint. He pulled Armin closer, and then let his upper arms rest on the blond's shoulders, arms straight out and fingers interlocking. Then they bent so he could muss up Armin's wet hair. Some strands had stuck on the front of his face. Jean moved them away with a thumb until his face was clear, reveling in the success by kissing the skin the hair had previously clung to.

“Long story short,” Jean said, pulling away an inch to speak. “De'fwelle.”

“W-what?” Armin breathed.

Jean smiled against his skin. “You'll just have to figure it out after your language lessons.”

“What if I forget what you said by then?” Armin whispered.

“Trust me; you won't. I won't let you.” Jean nipped at his chin and then returned to kissing him. Armin wasn't about to argue a second time.

**Author's Note:**

> Collab with breezy! [(Companion Art)](http://breezerkawaiiart.tumblr.com/post/92096205437/jearmin-week-day-4-fantasy-armin-tried-to-think)


End file.
